Nirvana
by Hollow Sanctuary
Summary: A teenage England strikes out against Scotland, who needs to show him just who he belongs to.  S/E, non con, incest, lemon


**This is totally based off an awesome video I found on youtube, the link for which is at the bottom of the fic. Just take out the spaces. Also, Scotland/England is an awesome pairing that needs more love. I'm trying out a new style here though, so I'd love feedback~**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia~ Or any landmasses herein. That'd be cool though.**

England's feet were near silent as they slid across the frozen stones. Winter wind sneaked through the cracks in the stone walls. He swallowed thickly as he pushed open the heavy oaken door. Scotland's back was to him, his sides rising in sleep. England's hand tightened around the hilt of the heavy dagger in his grip until his knuckles were white.

Trembling, the cold air grabbing at him, stinging him, his body moved slowly towards his sleeping brother. The bed slumped under his knee. The air froze in England's throat as the dagger rose high above his head, aimed directly for Scotland's neck. The messy red hair on his brother's head reminded him of blood. England squeezed his eyes shut, shaken to the core.

Scotland's voice cut through the frigid air, but England couldn't understand what he was saying. Sharp green eyes locked with terrified ones. Brushing his hair out of his face the elder rolled to face his young England. A large hand reached up, seizing England's slim wrist. With a small twist, the two were reversed. The blade slipped out of England's hand. With a lazy flick of his wrist, Scotland sent the knight sliding across the sheets, to land with a clang on the floor. His hand descended upon England's shoulder, pressing painfully.

Bright eyes with blond lashes squeezed shut tightly, a few tears slipping across pale cheeks, leaving trails of ice fire. Scotland's long leg pressed up between England's gangly ones. A whimper passed England's lips. Scotland's eyes shone in the faint light madly, sadistic glee deep within them. The hand upon England's shoulder slid down his arm, to grasp his wrist and drag it to meet it's twin.

For seconds that seemed to fade all to quickly, England's wrist was free. Only to be caught in a vice grip of a singular hand. The frail bones of his wrists ground together beneath clammy skin. England's elder brother's hand slid down his chest, over his twisting stomach, down his leg. Cold fingers grasped the edges of the tattered robe England wore, and yanked it upwards, leaving it caught about his head.

A sharp pain rose from England's thigh where Scotland's fingers dug in too harshly. The abrasive digits drug along his thigh, ever higher. The thigh pressed against England's manhood intimately. In the way Wales had always told him was wrong between brothers... Scotland's own organ was flaccid, lightly brushing against England's skin.

Thick laughter filled the room as the intrusive hand wrapped around England. Scotland was speaking again, a question England couldn't answer. All he could do was focus on everything but the cool hand on his blooming need. More tears slid along his cheeks. Scotland's tongue caught a few. England's thick brows furrowed above his eyes, his body shaking like a leave.

The hand slid across the younger man teasingly, pressing sweet spots, teasing. The beads of moisture that formed at the tip were smeared down the length. Sharp teeth broke the smooth skin along the column of England's neck. Lapping at the blood, torturing England all the while, Scotland pressed a single kiss the wound, the remaining blood staining his lips red. The red head lifted from England's neck to cover his face, stealing much needed air with blood stained kisses.

Pressure mounted between England's thighs, the Scot's fingers dancing along his length, altering between light and feathery to heavy and aggressive. With a shrill cry, England spent himself onto his brothers hand, and his own stomach. The hot liquid was quickly cooling in the air. Scotland released his wrists, pulling the robe down over England's mess.

With a sick pleasure, Scotland wiped his soiled hand down England's damp face. His body remained loose, unaroused. England didn't bother trying to wipe himself off his face. He merely scrubbed at his eyes. Scotland lifted him, and carried him out of his room with frightening ease. England's knees buckled when his feet hit the floor, collapsing and just sitting there. The door creaked shut behind him.

There England stayed till the morn, furiously rubbing at his eyes.

**Thanks to all you who actually read through this~ Here, has a link: http(:)/www(.)Youtube(.)com/watch?v=41gmf6ihNX0&feature=related (Just take out parenthesis.)**


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